Masking the Pain
by TearsofPain58
Summary: When Smalls and Benny find Phillips bruised and severely beaten in an alleyway on their way home from the Sandlot, they don't know what to do. They eventually decide to take him to Benny's house to heal him. The only problem is, the rest of the team still hates Phillips guts. Can they overcome the hatred to help poor Phillips or will they send him away? Rated T for child abuse.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone! It is I, the wonderful TearsofPain! I haven't been on here lately because I was participating in the esteemed contest, Nanowrimo, otherwise known as National Novel Writing Month! Unsurprisingly I wrote it about a child abuse victim and his journey to overcome the trauma of his childhood (even though he's still only 15 going on 16). But of course, you don't want to hear me ramble about my book that I didn't quite finish. You want to read the story! So... off you go!**

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Benny's POV

"Smalls, throw it to second!" I called out. Smalls nodded earnestly and got into position. When I was sure his posture was correct and he was ready to move if he had to, I threw the ball high up into the air and then I slammed the bat into it. It flew in a perfect arc over Yeah-Yeah's head and fell right into Smalls' outstretched glove. He laughed in triumph and quickly threw the ball to second where Bertram was waiting. Then Bertram threw it over to Squints at third who threw it to Ham who was waiting at home plate.

"Great job Smalls!" I shouted. "You're getting much better! And you guys are getting faster!" I praised looking at all of my boys. They all beamed and basked in the praise before snapping back into position when I shouted, "Okay! Let's get this game started!"

Kenny quickly jogged over to the pitcher's mound, threw the ball into the air a couple of times to get ready, and then wound up. He pulled his leg up to his stomach, brought his arm back, and then let it fly. It was one of his heaters and I knew this would be a hard one to hit. As it flew in a steady path towards me I let everything around me except the ball fade out of focus and time seemed to slow down. I swung the bat forward as I saw it get into the right area and I smiled as it hit the ball and sent it flying.

C

R

A

C

K!

The ball flew towards outfield where Timmy and Smalls were waiting. In mere seconds I was already practically flying towards first base. I grinned as my foot made a satisfying smacking sound when it slammed onto the makeshift base.

I was already almost to third by the time Bertram got the ball. I passed Squints who was jumping up and down screaming, "Come on, and hurry up!"

I was about halfway to home plate when Squints threw the ball to Ham, trapping me. My eyes darted from side to side as I frantically looked for an opening. The guys hadn't gotten me out to this day and I didn't plan on soiling that record. I started to run back towards third but Ham was a step ahead of me and he had already thrown the ball back to Squints. I screeched to a halt and made to run to home. But Ham already had the ball again. They did this a couple more times before I finally spotted an opening.

I pumped my arms as I ran as fast as I could towards home plate. I feinted turning around and Ham fell for it and threw the ball towards Squints, and I ran back towards home.

By now all the guys were screaming, some for me to run and some for Squints to throw it back, and I laughed delightedly. I knew I would make it now. But before I got to home Ham was suddenly in front of me waving the ball tauntingly. I ignored him and just gracefully slid through his legs and touched my foot to the base.

Of course Ham cursed and muttered under his breath that he let me get by, but I knew he wasn't really angry. He was just disappointed that I had managed to slip by him yet again. Ham was disappointed many times throughout the course of the day. Time and time again I hit the ball, got to third, and managed to slip past Ham at the last second.

We finally stopped playing when it got too dark to see the ball, but none of us were happy about it, especially me. If I could, I would play baseball 24/7, but unfortunately I can't. So I walked over to the dugout with the rest of the guys, grabbed my bat and the baseball, and slowly walked across the Sandlot and out the gate.

On the way home we were all talking and laughing and jokingly shoving each other, and we all yelled "Bye!" at the tops of our voices whenever someone reached their house. Soon enough Smalls and I were the only ones left.

In order to get to our houses we had to walk through the "rich kid neighborhood" as Squints had dubbed it. We started power-walking when we got inside because to tell the truth, we don't like anybody who lives in this neighborhood, and nobody who lives here particularly likes us, especially Phillips.

Phillips is the snobby captain of the Tigers, the little league team who hates all of our guts and thinks that they're so much better than us just because all of their parents are rich. They're not even very good at baseball. To tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, they suck.

Whenever they see us, whether it's around town or just in the Sandlot, they surround us and start taunting us, telling us that we're sissies, "reminding" us of how horrible we are at baseball, and just being all around nasty.

To tell the truth, I think Phillips is just jealous of us. Our friendship, our abilities, and our relaxation time are all luxuries that he can't have. And surprisingly, I feel sorry for him sometimes. I mean, I know that no matter what happens my boys will be there to help and support me, but Phillips doesn't have that kind of security.

The only reason his goons, I mean, baseball team follows him around and takes orders and cues from him is because he has a lot of influence and is powerful considering his dad is the baseball coach. If someone else were to come along who was somehow more powerful than Phillips, he would be forgotten in a second.

And considering his dad was his coach, I would be surprised if he ever had any free time. I bet that his dad has him training non-stop and he never gets to stop until his dad is satisfied. That was another difference between me and him. I play baseball all day pretty much every day, but that was my choice. I can stop whenever I want to get a soda or just talk with my friends. Phillips can't.

I was silently pondering these things and drowning out Smalls' constant chatter as we pretty much jogged down the street. Smalls had really come out of his shell after the whole "pickling the beast" incident. Now he talked about as much as Yeah-Yeah and he was almost as annoying.

We both jumped and Smalls fell silent as we saw a light flick on in a house that was about a block away. The door of the house opened and we saw a kid who was about our age silhouetted in the doorway. Suddenly he was pulled inside by the front of his shirt by a man I assumed was his father. Then the yelling started. Smalls and I could hear it from a block away even after the door was slammed closed. We started running when we reached the house because to tell the truth, the yelling and screaming was really freaking us out.

I assumed that the boy had gotten home late and his father was expressing his worry through screaming and yelling at him. I was just glad that my dad wasn't like that because I got home late often due to losing track of the time while playing.

About 10 minutes and 15 blocks later Smalls and I were almost out of this neighborhood and into our own. Suddenly someone ran into us from behind and knocked us flat on our faces. Then, without stopping, in fact, without even acknowledging that we were there, the kid ran down to the end of the street and darted into and alley.

I pushed myself up onto my hands and knees and looked over at Smalls to make sure he was okay. He looked fine except for a few scratches on his hands and knees which, after examining myself, I found that I had too.

"Well that was rude!" Smalls exclaimed while slowly clambering up off of the ground. "He didn't even apologize!" I agreed with him and then grabbed my bat and the ball that I had dropped when I fell and stood up to continue walking.

I couldn't resist peeking into the alley as we passed it, and what I saw shocked me. The kid who had just shoved past us and knocked us over was huddled in the very back of the alley shrouded in shadows with his face hidden in his knees. From what I could see, he had blonde hair and he was wearing a baseball uniform. His shoulders were shaking slightly, and it was enough to tell that he was crying.

Smalls finally realized that I had stopped and he walked back towards me with a confused look on his face. Silently I raised my arm and pointed at the kid. Smalls' eyes widened and he made to step forward. I stopped him by placing a hand on his shoulder, but not before his foot hit an empty beer bottle. The noise it made as it rolled seemed to fill up the alleyway.

I saw the boy stiffen when he heard it, but he didn't take lift his head.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but are you okay?" I asked in a gentle voice. I noticed that the boy let out a squeaking sound when he heard my voice and then he started to shake harder and sob louder than he had before.

"Obviously not." I muttered under my breath. Then I spoke in a louder voice. "Don't worry! We're not here to hurt you. We just want to talk." I soothed. I tentatively took a step closer to him but I quickly took two steps back and raised my hands in surrender when he gasped and started to hyperventilate.

"Kid it's okay! Calm down! You're gonna hurt yourself if you keep breathing like that!" I whisper yelled.

I could tell he really was trying to calm himself down, but it wasn't working and in a couple of frenzied minutes he passed out from lack of air.

I cautiously walked over to him, vaguely aware of Smalls tiptoeing behind me. I kneeled down and gently turned over the boy. I couldn't tell who he was since the shadows were covering his face making it hard to distinguish his features.

Then the moon came out from behind the clouds and the boy's face was lit up. I gasped as I realized that it wasn't the shadows that were making his face so dark. It was dozens of slowly forming bruises. They covered his entire face and his neck. When I looked closer I saw he also had jagged cuts on his arms and legs and his lip was split and bleeding. For a couple of minutes Smalls and I just stared down at him and tried to figure out who it was. Then it hit me. I think Smalls figured it out at the same time I did because he gasped.

The broken, bruised, and beaten boy in front of us was none other than Phillips.

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**So? What did you think? Was it good? Bad? Sad? Horrific? Be sure to let me know by leaving me a review! Oh and I forgot to say this at the beginning, but flames will be used to make me yummy s'mores! And while I love s'mores, I don't really like flames, so please don't give me any. If you spot any mistakes, be sure to let me know _in a nice way_ and I'll fix them as soon as possible. Also if you want to PM me for whatever reason, please feel free to do so. I recently lost my phone and I can't text my best friend so I am bored. And... I think that's all. But remember:**

**_A happy author writes better and faster, so leave a review and make me happy!_**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey y'all! I'm so sorry that this is late (I try to update every other week, probably on Mondays). School is really getting me down though. Teachers seem to think that since we go on Christmas Break this week, it's their duty to pile as much homework on us as they can. I have had to do 3 lab write ups for my science teacher Mrs. Kirk, including the one from today! Plus I'm only allowed to have 1 hour on the computer per day, and the lab write ups take up most of that time. Anyways, enjoy!**

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Phillip's POV

I sighed quietly from my hiding place in the bushes. I had ditched practice today to spy on the Sandlot team and get some pointers. They were really good and I couldn't help feeling a tiny bit jealous. Maybe if I could play like they could my father would finally be proud of me.

I studied the way Rodriquez was completely relaxed, how he held his bat, and where he placed his feet. He was always relaxed when he was up to bat and he seemed to know that he could hit anything anyone could throw at him. And he could. Maybe that was what my problem was. I was always tense and nervous when I played because I was scared that I would disappoint my father. Then I was so nervous that I messed up and disappointed my father anyways. And it sure didn't help to have Ham saying stupid things to me and distracting me.

As I stared, I saw that the team made an excellent play and almost tagged Rodriquez. Then, instead of getting upset that they didn't get him, they laughed and _congratulated him_!

The rest of the day proceeded in a similar manner. Rodriquez would hit the ball and run, the team would just barely miss tagging him out, and then they would all give him high-fives or thumbs up and they would get ready to do it all over again.

It was the complete opposite of my team. We rarely ever hit the ball, and when we did make a good hit, the outfield was all jumbled up and couldn't catch the ball. Then my father would storm out onto the field and yell at us and tell us every single thing we did wrong. There is not positive encouragement on my team. There is only mess up and get yelled at, mess up and get threatened, mess up and get sent home.

I sighed as I witnessed the pure joy on the team's faces as they played and joked with each other. The joy that was never present when I played. The joy that was there every single time they played.

* * *

All too soon it was time for the Sandlot team to go to their houses since it was getting too dark to play anymore. I saw them all troop out of the Sandlot laughing and shoving and joking with each other the entire way, like true friends do.

I almost stood up from my hiding place in the bushes and ran to go home, but I spotted Rodriquez and that wimpy kid Smalls over in the dugout just in time. Rodriquez grabbed his bat and his ball and they both ran to catch up with the rest of their friends.

I waited until they were out to jump up and sprint over to the shortcut I had found a couple days ago that lead straight to my house.

As I ran I wondered what my father was going to do to me. I was always supposed to home around dusk and it was currently full on night time. He was going to kill me, or at least come pretty darn close.

When I finally arrived at my house, panting, I saw Rodriquez and Smalls wandering down the road a couple block back and I cursed when I realized they would probably hear the whole thing. All thoughts of them flew out of my head however when the living room light flicked on and heavy footsteps could be heard clomping towards the door.

I cringed and took a step back when I heard the lock click and the door was suddenly yanked open. My father was standing silhouetted in the doorway with a disapproving glare on his face. He latched onto my arm with his iron grip and dragged me into the house.

Then he slammed the door behind us and threw me roughly onto the hard tiles of our kitchen. I winced as I landed on a shattered beer bottle, and then my eyes widened as I realized my father had been drinking, a lot, and that I was officially screwed.

"WHERE THE HECK WERE YOU?!" he yelled staring down at me.

"I-well-I-um… I was taking the scenic route home?" I stuttered. My father obviously heard the question in my answer and he quickly reared back and slapped me in the face.

As I cradled my now sore cheek in my hands he screamed, "THAT'S FOR LYING TO ME! NOW WHERE WERE YOU REALLY?!"

"At the Sandlot." I muttered quietly in a terrified voice, bracing myself for the pain that I was positive was about to come. My father's eyes widened and he leaned down so that he was staring right into my eyes.

"And why were you at the Sandlot?" He whispered in a voice that was probably supposed to sound kind but ended up just sounding threatening. I gagged as I smelled the liquor on his breath, and answered in a whisper, "I wanted to see the team play." I immediately cringed back. I knew that he would be mad, but I knew it would be worse if I attempted to lie to him again.

"WHAT?!" he roared. "WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO WATCH THOSE PATHETIC BASEBALL TEAM WANNABES PRACTICE?" Then he slapped me again, on the other cheek this time, and he punched me in the lip, making it split open and start bleeding. The thick red blood gushed over my face, but I was too scared at the moment to lift my arm and wipe it away.

When I stayed silent he let out a scream of pure rage and started to slap and punch any inch of skin he could reach. I stayed silent still knowing that any noise will just enrage him even more than he already was.

Then he proceeded to pin me to the ground by my neck and started to "remind" me of how worthless I was and how he was ashamed that he had such a failure for a son, cussing throughout the entire process.

Finally after what felt like hours but was probably only about 10 minutes, he sat back on his heels and stared down at me. I made a split second decision and shoved him as hard as I could while he was unbalanced. Then I waited until he crashed onto the floor onto his back to jump up, rip the door open, and sprint through it, out into the cold night.

I pushed my aching muscles to carry me away from that horrible house as fast as I could without completely collapsing. I knew that I would have to go back sooner or later and receive my punishment, but until then I was going to put as much distance between my father and I as possible.

Suddenly 2 shapes seemed to materialize in front of me, and due to my momentum there was no way to stop or to avoid them. I just slammed into them, apologizing to them in my head as my throat hurt too much to talk, and kept on running. I heard a voice behind me say, "Well that was rude!" and I realized I had just run into Rodriquez and Smalls. I didn't turn around to acknowledge them because I knew they would recognize me instantly and wonder what I was doing running through the streets at this time of night.

I ran for another block or so and then I turned down the first alley I came to and scuttled to the very back. Then I plopped down with my already bruising face buried firmly into my knees and let all the pent up tears of the night roll down my face. Before I knew it I was sobbing harshly, the sound seeming to come from somewhere deep inside of me, although it was very quietly.

All of a sudden I sensed that there was someone standing at the entrance of the alley. Then I heard footsteps which I knew meant that another person was coming to ogle at me. Great. Soon I heard the footsteps come closer and I heard the person's foot hit an empty beer bottle. The sound reminded me of my father and I stiffened as bad memories suddenly flooded through my head.

The kid probably thought that the reason I stiffened was because I was afraid of him because I heard him cautiously say, "I'm really sorry to bother you, but… are you okay?" I started crying and shaking harder when I realized the voice belonged to Rodriquez; I was hoping he would think I was unstable or something and just leave me alone.

I heard him mutter "Obviously not," under his breath and I almost groaned in frustration when he told me soothingly, "Don't worry. We're not going to hurt you. We just want to talk." I had to admit being able to talk to someone about my… predicament sounded nice, but I quickly squashed that thought as I pictured the disgusted look on his face, the pity, the sympathy he would show when I told him that my own father thought that I was worthless. I decided to just stay silent. He must've thought that that meant it was okay for him to come closer since he took one step towards me.

I started panicking and hyperventilating trying frantically to communicate without words that I did not want him to come any closer and he quickly retreated. "Kid, it's okay! Calm down! You're gonna hurt yourself if you keep breathing like that!" he whispered and I could tell he was freaking out, but he was trying to keep calm for my sake.

I tried to calm down, really! But in the end I was panicking too much, my entire body ached, and I was just too exhausted to stay conscious any longer. I just gave one last faltering breath before black started crowding around the edge of my vision. My last though was, _"Please don't look at me, please don't find out who I am! You can't know!"_ but I knew he was going to look as soon as my body went limp. I just hoped he would leave me here to suffer in peace. The last thing I saw was him coming closer and reaching to turn me over before all of my pain faded and my world was consumed by a warm comforting blackness.

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**Well... That was depressing. I felt sad when I wrote this. Is it pathetic that my life goal is to write something that makes _me, the author who actually knows how the story will end, _cry? Probably... Anyways, I always feel like a hypocrite when I say this because I only review half of the stories that I read, but could you pretty please with Leo Valdez on top review? P.S. Do any of you support Puckabrina? My friend and I were having a serious fangirling session with squealing and the works in the school library this morning about Puckabrina. Just tell me in your review or send me a PM. (P.P.S. "By the way, when I said 'Wow', I was looking at you" By Puck)**

_**P.P.P.S Happy Authors Write Better and Faster, So Review and Make Me Happy!**_


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